


Larks Never Will

by ariminiria



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, F/M, Geralt is actually a softie, I'm so proud of him honestly, Jaskier goes off at one point, Jaskier settles down, Magic, Monsters, Mystery, Not Canon Compliant, Politics, Romance, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), reader is mysterious, uhhhh idk what else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariminiria/pseuds/ariminiria
Summary: Jaskier, as always, is along for the ride on one of Geralt’s contracts in a faraway kingdom. In the midst of it all, he finds that his wandering affections have settled on one woman - he is falling for a mysterious and elusive servant girl in the royal household.It seems she is somehow connected to this dark magic that keeps the kingdom in fear. The closer Geralt gets to uncovering the mystery, the further Jaskier feels from the truth. What does this mean for his aching heart?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue - The Moonlit Castle

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the series Beautiful and Damned by @dreamwritesimagines on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No reader yet in this part! If things go according to plan, she’ll appear in the next one! I’m trying something unique with this one, it’s going to be mostly from Jaskier’s point of view, like a little mystery to solve type of deal… We’ll see how it goes!

Jaskier considered himself quite a tolerant person. He had managed to put up with Geralt for this long, anyways, and surely that ought to count for something, but the Witcher was fraying at his last nerve. He gladly followed his friend - and yes, despite what Geralt might say to the contrary, Jaskier did consider it a friendship - into all sorts of danger to capture the thrilling tales of his conquests, but what he did not take such appreciation to was the current matter of being dragged (at times quite literally) to the other side of the Continent for a job that did not sound appealing in the least.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” the Witcher said in that gruff voice of perpetual displeasement. “You’ll have a chance to caterwaul in front of a court full of rich nobles.”

Now that was rather crossing the line, but Jaskier hadn’t the energy to be any more angry than he already was, so he simply bristled at the other man, giving his most irritable scowl.

“First of all, Geralt, what I do is not _caterwauling_ ,” he replied, mustering as much disdain as he could into his voice. “It takes talent, and, and charm! And a certain, delicate appreciation for the arts, which of course, you wouldn’t understand, you with your gruff, tough Witcher exterior…”

“Is there a point somewhere to be found amidst these insults?”

Geralt didn’t sound too terribly miffed, despite his words. In fact, he sounded rather bored.

Jaskier bristled, the Witcher’s indifferent tone only serving to rile him further.

“And secondly, you have been dragging me hither and thither across the Continent with scarce a stop in any civilized place! I know you quite enjoy sleeping in the cold dark woods with naught but a fire and your horse--” Here Roach interjected with an indignant snort. She really was far too intelligent for both her own good and Jaskier’s comfort. “--but others of us prefer a town and an inn every once in a while, where there are audiences with coin, and women on whom to spend that coin…”

“Jaskier…” came the voice of Geralt once more, his tone warning.

“Yes, yes,” he admitted at last, though quite irritably. “I _am_ pleased, you great brute. I simply wish we might have stopped once or twice along the way here. I’d rather that the court ladies’ first impression of me not be forever stained with the stench and dirt of the road.”

The Witcher responded with a low rumble that most would have taken for a threatening growl, but Jaskier, who knew him well, could tell that Geralt was amused with his petulance.

“Knowing you, Jaskier, that certainly will not deter them for long.”

Jaskier, blinking in surprise, found himself rather pleased under the (only somewhat backhanded) comment.

“Yes, well… How far do you suppose we’ve yet to go?”

Geralt gave one of his signature grunts in response, and Jaskier came to the sudden realization that the castle, illuminated by the light of the moon overhead, had been well within his view for some time now. His own grumbling had distracted him from noticing its presence previously.

“Ah.”

They walked in silence for the most part, after that. At least, what Jaskier would consider silence. He certainly didn’t miss the disgruntled looks Geralt passed his way as he absently strummed at his lute. In truth, the poor bard just couldn’t help himself. He’d come up with a rather brilliant melody, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t find the lyrics to match. Whatever it turned out to be, he knew it would be brilliant. Eventually…

When they came upon the lower town, Jaskier felt an odd prickling up his spine. Traveling with a Witcher, he often found himself in terrifying and dangerous situations, and yet never before had he felt such cold fear crawling over him. Upon passing the tavern, the rattling realization dawned upon him, the thing that felt so off.

The town was entirely devoid of life. The streets held no crowds of people, no drunkards spilled from the inn. Even the street dogs and feral cats seemed to be making themselves scarce.

“What is this contract of yours, again?” he murmured, knowing Geralt’s Witcher senses would pick up his soft spoken words.

Geralt glanced around at the deserted town as they neared the palace gates.

“They didn’t tell me.”

Jaskier snorted. “The coin must be _very_ good, then.”

The Witcher said nothing more.

Up ahead, gray stone spires rose up into the sky. The kingdom’s banners hung limp and sad upon the turrets, as if no one had had the heart to renew them in an age. The courtyard, like the town, held no sign of life, reminiscent of a barren skeleton under the summer sun.

Geralt, as stoic as ever, dismounted Roach and looked around.

Just as Jaskier took a breath to ask where the people of court might be, a pair of guards appeared.

“Witcher,” one of them hailed as they drew near, “We have been sent by the King and Queen to escort you to the main hall.”

Geralt of course, said nothing. The guards first took them to the royal stables, since Geralt refused to let a stranger handle Roach, then they made their way into the palace itself.

“Where is everyone?” Jaskier asked. “The village was all but empty…”

Here, however, he noted servants scurrying about among the stone halls, ducking into passageways beneath opulent tapestries. The interior of the castle bustled with life, such a stark contrast to what they had seen just outside.

“The King ordered that none set foot outside after the sun sets,” one of the guards answered. “Because of the monster that’s been terrorizing the region.”

“Hm,” Geralt added helpfully.

Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Here we are, then,” said the second guard.

They had come to a set of grand doors, behind which the King and Queen presumably awaited. The two guards pushed the doors open, and Jaskier and Geralt strode inside.

At the throne, a man and a woman sat, surrounded by their counsel, deep in conversation.

They turned only at the announcement of the guard.

“Your Majesties, may I present the Witcher…” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And his bard.”

Jaskier only just managed to refrain from scoffing. He was nobody’s bard, but it wouldn’t do to make enemies of these royals right from the beginning.

“Welcome, Witcher,” said the king. ‘“I do not hesitate to say what a relief it is that you have arrived. This monster has plagued us for far too long.”

“The sooner you tell me what it is, the sooner I can get to work to rid your kingdom of it,” Geralt said. His gaze drifted from the king to the servants on either side of the room, assessing each person he saw. The Witcher had very little patience for dealings with people, as Jaskier knew quite well from first experience, and it was clear he was eager to be out of the courtly situation as quickly as possible.

But the king shook his head.

“It is the dead of night,” he said, “And you have traveled far. Rest, and tomorrow we shall have a feast to celebrate your arrival.”

“I assure you, that’s not necess--”

“Then,” the king continued, as if he had not heard Geralt (though with the Witcher’s low tone, it was altogether possible that might have genuinely been the case), “We shall tell you all that we know about this creature.”

Geralt looked as if he were going to protest again, so Jaskier helpfully interjected, “That would be most wonderful, Your Majesty. We do so love a good feast.”

If looks could kill… Jaskier thought he might burst into flames under Geralt’s glare.

“You are the bard Jaskier, are you not?” the Queen asked, studying him carefully.

Jaskier flashed his most brilliant smile at her, despite the king’s presence.

“I am indeed, my lady.”

The Queen looked him over. “Hm… Perhaps you might join our court musicians for a song or two tomorrow night.”

“I would be honored,” Jaskier said with that charming grin plastered across his face. “Any chance to share my talents.”

The King gestured to one of the servants beside the dais, evidently satisfied with the extent of the discussion for now.

“The servants will show you to your quarters. While you are out guests here, ask for anything you need, and it shall be given to the best of our abilities.”

“And we thank you kindly for it,” Jaskier said, practically buzzing with excitement.

Was he vain? Perhaps, in some ways. Geralt certainly considered him to be so, though Jaskier would always attribute that to the fact that he far preferred an inn, a bath, and a bed to the cold, rocky ground in the middle of nowhere. No matter the case, Jaskier would not deny how pleased he felt to be guests in the castle, and he intended to make the most of their time here.

The servant whom the King had motioned for, a boy of no more than fifteen, stepped forward and beckoned for the two men to follow him.

As soon as they had left the hearing range of the throne room, Geralt immediately began to grumble.

“We ought to have insisted on getting the details tonight,” he said irritably.

“Ah Geralt,” Jaskier chuckled, “You must learn to _enjoy_ these opportunities as they arise.”

“Hm,” came the only response.

Jaskier resisted the urge to laugh, as the Witcher likely would not appreciate it. He could tell that Geralt wanted to get this business taken care of as quickly as possible, hence his irritation at being detained an additional night.

“Now let me think,” Jaskier mused as the servant led them through the halls, “What songs shall I play?”

No answer from Geralt, of course.

“Perhaps I ought to trot out that old favorite, _Toss a C_ \--”

“Is that really necessary?” Geralt interrupted.

Jaskier looked rather miffed at that. “But of course. It _is_ the one that made my name.”

Geralt somehow managed to look even more dour than usual.

Jaskier made to speak again, but a movement at the edges of his vision stopped him. Probably just a servant scurrying about amongst the passageways, but…

“Here you are, Sir Witcher, Master Bard,” the servant said, stopping in front of two doors. “The King and Queen hope these chambers will suffice for your time here.”

He bowed low.

“If you are in need of anything, my name is Antoni,” he continued. “I’m to be at your beck and call during your stay.”

Geralt responded only with a noncommittal, low noise and disappeared into his chambers without another word.

Jaskier, however, grinned at the boy.

“Some wine would be wonderful.”

Antoni looked surprised.

“At this time of night, sir? I--” But he stopped short, as if believing he had spoken out of turn. “Right away, sir.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Jaskier reassured, stepping into his chambers.

Inside, he immediately began to make himself at home, strumming at his lute in an attempt to pick a song or two to perform.

Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he rather hoped that this monster would take a month or so to defeat, perhaps a week, at the very least.

He had a very good feeling about this kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated! Please please please let me know what you think of the characterizations! POLITE suggestions and all questions welcome!


	2. O Mysterious Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Two weeks later, I return! College is getting to me, but I wanted to at least put something out.

“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of P--”_

“Will you stop singing that damned song?”

Jaskier startled at the sudden intrusion into his chambers. He _had_ been warming up for the feast as he dressed, but right in the middle of lacing up his doublet, Geralt had nearly broken down the door.

No sense of privacy, that Witcher…

“Perhaps if you might care to knock,” Jaskier replied, turning to face his friend.

Geralt, of course, hadn’t bothered to dress up, even any small amount for the feast.

“You’ve been making that racket for nearly an hour.”

Jaskier hummed, and casually finished lacing his doublet. “And how did I sound through these stone walls? You and your uncanny hearing, I do swear…”

Geralt did not seem amused in the slightest.

“Are you ready at last?” he asked, ignoring Jaskier’s question.

“What, don’t tell me you’re afraid to go alone?” The Witcher glared at him. “Alright, alright. Yes, I’m ready.”

Jaskier quickly took up his lute and swept out the door, brushing past Geralt.

“Shall we?”

* * *

The crowd, of course, loved every number that Jaskier performed.

Geralt, of course, sat in a corner, attempting, Jaskier suspected, to become a part of the flagstone wall behind him.

The King and Queen were joined tonight by their son, the prince, whose name Jaskier had not committed to memory. They had spent every effort to celebrate the arrival of the Witcher, but ironically enough, Geralt had only been made miserable by what they considered to be hospitality.

After Jaskier had finished performing for the evening, he grabbed a cup of wine and strode over to Geralt.

“Why my dear Witcher, don’t tell me you intend to sit here all night!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards where the guests danced and celebrated.

“Leave me be, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled. “All I want is to hear what the king has to say. And I shall. Even if I must drag the answers out of him.”

Jaskier chuckled, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard.

“Now now, Geralt,” he said through a tight smile “You simply have to have a little patience.”

Geralt gave a low growl in response. If he were to have his way, Jaskier knew their stay would be as short-lived as possible. Yes, Jaskier supposed that in Geralt’s perfect world, the king and queen would simply deliver the details of the monster to him by way of messenger bird - no contact with royals would be most ideal - and then he would set out into the forest, kill the monster in one fell swoop, and then be on his merry - or perhaps, grim, rather than merry - way to go find another contract. Jaskier, however, preferred to linger a while, to get to know the people and the land most intimately as he could, to truly live, to revel in the thrill of travel and new lands. And the coin certainly didn’t hurt…

Jaskier chuckled, but whatever he intended to say next instantly left his brain at the sight of a beautiful woman across the room. She was most certainly some kind of noble, judging by her attire, and when she locked eyes with him, he definitely felt that familiar, fiery attraction.

A dry chuckle from beside him snapped him out of his thoughts. Jaskier glanced at Geralt. Anyone else might think the Witcher annoyed, but the bard caught the faintest hint of amusement, accompanied by an eyeroll.

“Yes, well…” Jaskier said, clearing his throat, “If you’ll excuse me…”

Geralt replied with a low noise of amusement, which Jaskier pointedly ignored.

He made his way over to the lady, turning on every bit of his charm.

Kingdoms and courts… truly the best place for a bard to be.

* * *

Dawn had not yet become even a suggestion on the horizon by the time Jaskier left her room. Now, normally, of course, he would spare no courtesy and make certain to invite his guests to his own chambers, but the King and Queen had provided a place for all of their guests to stay in order to avoid any night traveling, and her room had been closer to the feast than his chambers were.

Now, he hummed that still yet lyricless new tune of his as he followed the dark corridors back to his own place of residence, brushing his fingers over the strings of his lute, which of course hadn’t left his side all night. His lover really was quite the fan of his voice…

And that was when he saw her, glowing in the moonlight.

She sat on the windowsill, gazing out at the night sky, but Jaskier found her far more beautiful than the view that lay outside the window. Her starlit skin was positively otherworldly. He found himself walking over to her, his feet moving as if by their own accord.

Now, he would say something clever. Something suave, something--

“Hello.”

Wonderful. Certainly not what he had intended, but it seemed as though his mind was floating in a fog, and not simply from the wine.

She jumped in surprise, eyes wide, and Jaskier cursed his words for failing him. The young lady got to her feet immediately, and curtsied.

“Forgive me, my lord, I did not see you,” she said in one rushed breath. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Jaskier looked at her in confusion.

“It’s quite alright,” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “There’s no need for any of that. I’m no lord, my dear maiden, but a humble bard.” He bowed with a dramatic flourish and a charming grin. “Jaskier, at your service… And you are?”

She hesitated, and when she took a breath, the whole world froze. At least, Jaskier’s world went still, as if everything were swimming through molasses. And then, she spoke, and everything began to move again, all at once.

“(Y/N).”

Her name was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. For the briefest moment, the thought of dedicating an entire sonnet to that name flashed through his mind, but he brushed it aside, focusing on the woman before him, unwilling to take any moment in her presence for granted. Some might call him greedy, or insatiable. After all, at this very moment, he was en route from his most recent lover’s bed. But something about this woman intrigued him, and he knew it went much deeper than a physical curiosity.

“(Y/N),” he repeated, in almost a dreamy sigh. “I’m terribly sorry to have startled you.”

“It’s quite alright, Master Bard,” she said, offering a small smile. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Jaskier looked at her curiously. “For me?” When he looked at her more closely, he took note of her dress. Certainly nothing fancy, well worn… She was a servant. “Oh, well…”

He paused. He didn’t know what to say. In truth, he wanted to ask if she would talk with him. Would that be odd? He wanted to know more about her, wanted to draw every beautiful word from her lips, wanted to know her, to--

“I- I’ll just be out of your way then,” she said, ducking her head.

“No, no,” Jaskier said. “That’s quite alright. I could do with some company.”

Though wine still weighed heavy on his head, he found that despite everything he had been up to that night, there was no trace of weariness in his body. He rather suspected it had something to do with her, the beautiful (Y/N). Standing there in her presence felt as waking as a river in winter, and as wonderful as the first performance of a newly written song… and he wanted to know why.

Jaskier sat at the windowsill, opposite where she had been moments before. After a brief hesitation, (Y/N) took her place once more.

“Was the feast to your liking?” she asked softly.

“Oh, it was most wonderful,” Jaskier said with a wink.

(Y/N) smiled, averting her gaze.

“Though, it would have been better,” he continued, “If I had been able to share a dance with you.”

She smiled a little brighter, and glanced up to meet his eyes. “Surely you don’t mean that…”

“On my honor,” Jaskier said, seriously, but with just a dash of jesting.

“Forgive me if I sound selfish,” he continued, “But any good bard must not hesitate to ask… Which of my songs was your favorite?”

(Y/N) paused, and Jaskier spent one horrid moment fearing that she might be trying to think of a polite way to tell him that she hated all of them, or that she didn’t care for music at all. In a way, the truth she spoke almost disheartened him further than any abysmal possibility he had entertained.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to hear you perform,” she said softly. “I… wasn’t at the feast.”

Jaskier paused. “You weren’t there?”

He didn’t know why the notion bothered him so. She hadn’t been there to hear his songs…

(Y/N) hesitated, then shook her head. “No… No, I don’t serve at such large occasions.”

“Well then,” Jaskier said with a grin, his senses beginning to return to him, “I shall have to show you exactly what you missed!” He brought his into his lap and strummed at the strings. “If you wouldn’t mind too terribly,” he added as an afterthought.

She made him shy, uncertain of himself in a way he hadn’t been since his childhood. Not in a bad way, in the slightest, but the feeling was dizzying, intoxicating, and… well, wonderful. _She_ was wonderful.

“I would love nothing more,” she said, though Jaskier could tell that her words would not end there, “But… I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

She glanced out the window, and Jaskier followed her gaze to see the faintest tinge of purple welling on the horizon.

“I have duties to attend to.”

“Will I see you again?” he asked quickly, rising at the same time that she stood. He couldn’t be quite sure what drove him to ask.

A moment hung between them like a fog.

“Perhaps…” she answered at long last. A small, knowing smile appeared on her face, and gave a pointed look to the windowsill where they had just been sitting. “Our paths may yet cross again.”

And then, she vanished around the corner, and Jaskier felt a tugging at his heart. He stood there, still and silent where she had left him. His ever-restless fingers, he suddenly found idle at the strings of his lute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated! Please please please let me know what you think of the characterizations! Polite suggestions and all questions welcome!


End file.
